Make You Mine, page 16
“That should be interesting,” she murmured, sort of wishing she had someone else to talk to. Someone to run lines with her would help her stay awake. Maybe she should have asked Anna to come with her. An owl hooted in the woods behind the spec house and another answered mournfully. She had her window down a bit to let the cool air help keep her awake, even though it was barely nine o’clock. Being out at the site so late was a little spooky—the sounds of animals snuffling along the gravel drive and the occasional deer crashing through the underbrush made her start every so often, but it was also very peaceful.
She opened her window all the way, tugged the clip out of her hair, and leaned out, resting her head on the edge of the door, allowing her long hair to hang outside. The sky was clear, and the stars were out in full force. In Indianapolis, city lights kept people from seeing the abundance of stars that showed in the night sky, but over the river, it was quite a show. She was relaxed and so sleepy. I’ll just close my eyes for a second.
All of a sudden, something grabbed her hair and pulled her head down. She screamed. Her eyes flew open and above her leered an unfamiliar face. Hot wretched breath hit her nostrils and dark eyes glared at her.
“Hello, missy.” The man’s voice was gravelly and his breath was so noxious, she tried to turn her head away, but she couldn’t. His grip on her hair kept her right where she was. Oh, crap. Her stomach roiled and her mind whirled. What could she reach for in the car to hit him over the head? Her purse was on the passenger side floor, and her flashlight was on the seat next to her, just out of reach. She put her hands back and caught the lapels of his jacket and tugged, but he was ready for her, slipping out of her grasp and pulling her hair even harder.
She gasped, his grip making her scalp sting, bringing tears to her eyes. “Who are you?” she choked. “What do you want?”
“You wouldn’t know me, would you?” He leered into her face, his expression so full of animosity, her stomach heaved, and she had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. “I’m nobody. Ask anyone at Walker, bitch. They’ll tell you. Mr. Nobody.”
“Did . . . did you work for Walker?” Engage him. Make him talk and maybe he’ll calm down.
He barked a laugh. “Did I work for Walker?” he mocked in falsetto. “Whose truck do you think you’re driving?”
Suddenly, it occurred to her who this guy might be. “Shea? Shea B-B-Bradford?”
“So insignificant to the illustrious Walker family, no need to even get my name, right, eh?” He jerked her head back even farther, making her neck bend at a painful angle. “Bowman, bitch. Shea Bowman.”
“Stop!” she cried as she put her hands up to her head. “That hurts, dammit.”
“Do you think I care?” Bowman sneered. “You took my job. You deserve to hurt a lot worse than this.”
“Let me go!” At this point, it was clear the man wasn’t going to be reasoned with, so she simply flailed at him, trying to scratch him, his eyes, his cheeks, anywhere she could do damage.
He ducked out of her way, but at least he released her hair. Then he grabbed both her wrists and held them above her head. Her shoulders dug into the truck door as her back pressed against the armrest. He opened the door and yanked her out. She landed on her knees in the gravel in front of him with her arms stretched painfully over her head.
“Right where you belong. On your knees in front of me.” His jeans were dingy and filthy and permeated with the odors of sweat and alcohol. “Look at me.”
She kept her head down. If he was going to molest her, force her to . . . Dear God, no! She shut off that possibility before it could even become a whole thought, because no matter what he had planned, she wasn’t about to cooperate. Maybe if he let go of her wrists to make her look up, she’d have an advantage.
He pulled on her wrists. “I said, look at me.” Somehow his rough voice had become calmer. Eerily calm.
So, she obeyed and raised her head. His expression was an odd combination of anger and confusion and something else. Cunning? What is he plotting?
The door-open alarm on her truck was dinging, and she inanely thought that if the battery died, she’d have to run down through the orchard to get help. Maybe she could talk him out of whatever he was turning over in his head. She whispered, “Shea, you don’t want to hurt me. Go home, get some sleep. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
He stared down at her, his expression seeming to gentle a little.
She gave him the smallest of smiles.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Shut up.” He hauled his other hand back and slapped her.
Cheek stinging and tears blurring her eyes, she tried to struggle to her feet—this was not happening. She hadn’t done years of keeping her body in shape to be taken down by a drunken slob. Instinct told her to headbutt his crotch. As she reared back, he jerked her to her feet. When he released her, she stumbled and fell against the side of her truck. Panting, she edged her way toward the open driver’s door. If she could get into the truck, she could push the button, start it, and back the hell out of the gravel driveway before he had a chance to react.
But he was on her again and from somewhere, he had produced a couple of long zip ties in his hand. Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as she thought because, in seconds, her hands were secured behind her back and he was pushing her toward the house. “Move.”
He pushed her into the framed house, and she stumbled down the temporary steps to the basement. The sound of her truck dinging faded into background noise. She slipped on the last two steps and went down on her butt. He jerked her back up and shoved her into a gloomy corner. He was like an owl—seeming to have no difficulty seeing in the dark. After forcing her against a concrete wall, he took out his phone and shined the flashlight app around the basement.
“Do you like my artwork?” His grin was pure evil.
“You seem to have a rather limited vocabulary.” Behind her back, she circled her hands trying to stretch the zip ties enough to work her way out of them.
“Just said what needed saying.” He settled down on the bottom step, pulled a bottle out of his jacket pocket, and took a long drink. “You a tequila drinker? You look like a girl who likes her tequila.” He held up the bottle as shadows played on his face in the light from his phone. The man looked absolutely worn out.
She refused to answer as she leaned on the wall, feeling the cold of the concrete seep through her hoodie. When he capped the bottle and stuck it back in his pocket, she narrowed her eyes. “What’s your plan here, Shea?”
“Jack Walker’s an arrogant son of a bitch. He’s gonna pay.” He said it almost conversationally, as if he were talking about the weather or where he might have breakfast later.
“Pay for what?” Keep him talking. It was still sort of early—only about nine o’clock the last time she’d looked at the time on her iPad. If she kept him engaged, maybe he’d drink enough to pass out or she could talk him out of whatever it was he thought he was going to do. At this point, she was fairly sure it wasn’t her he wanted to hurt.
Just keep him talking . . .
*
Jack stood on the doorstep of Eli and Jasmine’s house and glanced at his watch, debating, before pushing the doorbell. Eight thirty wasn’t too late to drop in, although he and his brother didn’t really have a drop-in kind of relationship. But he’d finished his run and found himself on Eli’s doorstep, needing to process this idea of Maddie’s before tomorrow’s meeting. His younger brother knew Walker Construction inside and out, because he’d been in Jack’s CEO chair a year ago before turning the whole operation over to Jack and returning to his passion—being a carpenter. If anyone could give him perspective, it would be Eli—if he was willing.
As an investor, Eli attended Monday morning meetings, but he’d remained mostly hands-off Walker Construction since he’d turned the helm over to Jack.
Eli peered through the sidelight before opening the heavy painted door, his brow furrowed. “Jack?” Then immediately, “Is everything okay?”
Jasmine appeared behind him, a worried expression on her face, and Jack was struck again at how beautiful she was, with her dark brown hair piled in a messy bun, and wearing a Weaver’s Landing Marina T-shirt under oversized overalls that didn’t hide her burgeoning belly. She had a paintbrush in her hand and a smudge of soft-yellow paint on her cheek. “Jack, hey! Everything alright?”
Eli was in worn jeans and a Warner College T-shirt that had the same color paint dabbed on it in a couple of places. Clearly, they’d been working on their house in old town River’s Edge—a brick Georgian only a couple of doors down from Beck and Harley Lange’s renovated Victorian. The scent of fresh paint permeated the air as Eli held the door open in invitation, his eyes bright with concern.
“Everything’s fine,” Jack reassured them, aware of how curious they must be. Having him turn up on their doorstep was probably the last thing in the world they were expecting on a quiet Sunday evening. He ambled in, looking around at what they’d already accomplished—the living room was freshly painted, although the furniture was still covered with plastic drop cloths. He hugged Jazz. “Should you be painting? Breathing in fumes in your condition?”
“It’s latex paint, and we’ve kept the windows open, so no worry.” She led the way back to the kitchen, the first room they’d renovated. It had turned out cozy, yet sleekly modern, with new stainless steel appliances and glass-front, sage-green painted cabinets. “We need to get the nursery done before our little guy here shows up. You want something? A beer? Water? Coffee? Tea?”
Jack pulled out a chair at the breakfast nook table for her. “Sit. I’ll find something if I need it.”
Jazz chuckled, but plopped down heavily in the cushioned chair. “You’re exactly like your brother. I’m pregnant, not an invalid.”
“You’re due in two weeks, babe.” Eli tweaked her hair as he settled into the chair opposite her. “You should take it easy. She was exhausted after the Redbud Festival, and she and Jenny are all over Jo’s wedding plans.” He gave his wife a pointed stare. “She needs to rest.”
Jack went to the fridge for a bottle of water before sitting down at the old oak table. “Oh, damn, I haven’t gotten them a gift yet. What do you buy for a gazillionaire?” He strained a little at the tight lid on the bottle. “God, I swear they superglue the lids on these things.”
Eli quirked a brow. “Want me to get that for you, old man?”
Thankfully, the cap gave way. Jack tossed it at his smirking brother and took a long drink, wondering as he did whether he should even be here. Walker Construction was his responsibility now. Eli had turned it all over to him. Was his indecision about Maddie’s suggestion another sign that he wasn’t the CEO he thought he could be when Eli was in that chair? There had been too many of those signs lately. His mind whirled as he tried to find a way to begin without sounding like he didn’t know what he was doing.
All the times he’d questioned Eli’s choices, given him unasked-for advice, thrown in his two cents even if Eli didn’t ask for it, and now here he was. The company was struggling after losing three bids in less than a year, and Custom Homes were going to have to save them. What was out on the horizon for commercial wasn’t going to be enough to bring them back into the black. He’d already told Elvin several months ago to stop depositing his salary—it was a gesture more than anything, but it made him feel better. He had plenty saved, and the firm needed the cash more than he did.
“Jack?” Eli tipped his head, his brows furrowed. “What’s up, man?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Madeline had an idea.” Quickly, he outlined Maddie’s plan for the four construction companies to co-op the houses for Hiko. “What do you think?”
Eli listened attentively while Jazz sat back in her chair, her hands folded over her belly, clearly struggling to keep her expression impassive. Her eyes had lit up as Jack had talked, so he knew she thought it was a terrific idea, but she remained silent and he was glad, because he was looking for Eli’s impressions. He gave himself a mental shake at that thought. Eli and Jazz were a team—undoubtedly, he talked to her about everything, even Walker Construction business, and wasn’t that as it should be? Surely, she already knew the business was in a rough spot.
Eli and Jazz exchanged a long look before Eli asked, “What do you think?”
“I don’t want to share this contract,” he blurted without hesitating, although he couldn’t meet Eli’s eyes.
Eli leaned his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his palm. “But it could get us enough business to bring us back from the edge.”
Jack snapped his gaze back to his brother, and the expression in Eli’s eyes was something he couldn’t read until Eli said, “You could take your salary again.” Jack straightened and opened his mouth to deny the charge, but Eli raised one hand. “Elvin emailed the financials for tomorrow’s meeting. Did you think we wouldn’t see?”
Jack dropped back again. “It’s not forever,” he mumbled. “Just ’til the spec houses are done and we get the contract.”
Eli smacked his hand on the table. “Good grief! You always do this, Jack. Play the hero. You think you can fix everything all by yourself.” His voice rose. “You always know best. You think nobody else can make this company work, and now look at us.” He paused and held out both hands in a here-we-are kind of gesture.
Pain knifed through Jack as if his brother had actually stabbed him, but damned if Eli wasn’t right. Despite all his hard work, despite his belief that he knew what was best for the business, somehow, he was driving Walker Construction into the ground. All the decisions he’d made since the day he’d taken over from Eli marched through his mind—the successes, and he’d had some successes, like the theater gig, a distribution center up on the highway, the reno work in Vevay, had all paid off, but the losses—three bids in less than a year. Even Eli hadn’t lost so many bids.
Even Eli? What a crappy thing to think.
It’s not a competition, he reminded himself. Walker was a family business, yet from the moment he’d sat down in Eli’s CEO chair, he’d thought of it as his and he’d treated it thus. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want to give away the potential to build all these houses—that contract could put us back on top.”
“Not if we take on more than we can reasonably handle, it won’t.”
“But, it’s a huge contract and we can’t afford—”
“Jack, I know you think I should stay in my own lane since I turned the company over to you, but I can see that we’re hemorrhaging cash. We have too many crews for the amount of work we have and every time someone suggests layoffs, you take it as a personal affront. I don’t have your business savvy—hell, I lost the Hiko factory gig, but this sounds like a way to get us back on track without killing us in the process.” Eli gave him an earnest look. “Frankly, Custom Homes is carrying us right now, and that’s not a bad thing. After all, that’s where Dad and Uncle Lionel started.”
Jack was fully aware that Walker Custom Homes was keeping them afloat. He’d even wondered if shutting down the commercial side of Walker Construction was the way to go. The huge commercial ventures had been him pushing the company, encouraging first their dad and uncle and then Eli to bid on big projects and worry about how they’d do them later. He’d truly believed Walker was ready to play with the bigger boys along the river if they’d only jump in with both feet, which was why he was more than happy to take his cautious brother’s position when Eli offered it. Walker Construction was going straight to the top, and Jack would lead the way. But lately, he wasn’t so sure.
The commercial gigs hadn’t paid off like the homes did, and the projects involved so much more work, time, manpower, and money than he’d ever imagined. Unanticipated difficulties meant they got behind and had to hire more help while supply-chain issues caused delays that irritated customers. Jack felt like he was spending all his time soothing frustrated clients, not trying to find the new work they needed.
“Jack?” Eli touched his forearm. “Stop with the great stone face, already. Can’t you see how all of us can benefit here? We aren’t equipped to build hundreds of houses, but we can handle it if we share the work and—” He snapped his mouth shut, his jaw working as he stared at Jack. “This isn’t about the money, is it? It’s about your ego.”
“It’s not,” Jack denied hotly, even though in his heart, that was exactly the case. He didn’t want to admit to Beakins, Cromwell, and Thacker that Hiko’s housing needs were beyond Walker’s capabilities. Asking them to join forces was practically the same as admitting they couldn’t do it and that felt like crap.
Eli huffed a breath, rose, and paced the kitchen. “Don’t be an idiot. If the number of houses Hiko wants is daunting to us, don’t you think it is to the others too?”
“I don’t know . . .” Jack’s chest tightened and he thrust his fingers into his hair. “I-I . . .” His phone vibrated in his pocket and he yanked it out. Why was Missy calling him on a Sunday night? She always texted if she needed to communicate. “Miss? You okay?”
She didn’t even bother with the cordialities. “Robbie just texted to tell me that he’s sick and won’t be on-site tomorrow. Jack—” She took a breath. “He said he was concerned because he called Maddie to tell her he couldn’t do security at the houses tonight, and she told him not to worry, that she’d handle it.” Another pause, and Jack’s imagination suddenly went wild at her next words. “I checked with the other guys on the crew. She didn’t call any of them.”
His heart fell to his socks, and he knew as surely as he knew he was CEO of Walker Construction, Maddie’s out there all alone.
Chapter Seventeen
Jack bolted up out of his chair. “Gotta go.” He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and headed for the back door.
“What’s up?” Jazz and Eli asked in unison, almost as if they’d rehearsed the words.
“Not sure.” He was out the door, back down the steps, and almost to the street before he remembered his truck was at home. “Dammit!” He turned around and raced back up the steps. “Eli, can I borrow your car?”
